


A Telegraph Away

by EttaMills



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EttaMills/pseuds/EttaMills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is stuck training a new agent, while Gaby has her fun making them frustrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Telegraph Away

**Author's Note:**

> Another quick one shot, although I might be tempted to add a sequel later.

There were few places that could compete with Russia in the winter.   
The winds would bite any flesh it could find, the cold would claw at your bones until you couldn't remember what it felt like not to be shivering, and even the beautiful snow, slowly falling down across the night sky, was an evil in disguise as it piles against your door and slowed your heavy steps until it hurt to move.   
Yes, there was a reason that invading Russia in the winter was a well-known mistake.  
Yet, as Illya Kuryakin, Russian KGB extraordinaire, sat in a poorly lite, one room safe house on the border of Norway and Sweden, he wondered if this new frozen hell was going to give his motherland a run for its money.   
  
.   
  
The blond giant had been left with the short straw when they were deciding who had to train the new UNCLE recruits.  
 After 3 years since it's initial founding, the three top (and only) agents were worn down. They needed a break, time off. The last vacation they had was Gaby and his honeymoon, and even then, they had been on the French beach for less than a day before the world caved in on itself again and the three agents were called in. Since then, it was one mission after another, if not for UNCLE, then for when the KGB (who had started needing him less and less since Waverly had thrown his heavy political influence around) or the CIA ( the cowboy was still on a short leash, but always brought back very expensive and questionable presents) or even MI6 ( Illya hated those, though, because if it wasn't UNCLE, it meant he wasn't allowed to know).   
Finally, Waverly relented, and three more agents were found.   
A lovely little French girl, who turn out to be her government favorite political hit man (Napoleon was still limping),   
A charming Spanish man who liked to whisper sweet nothing into people's ears while robbing them blind.  
And skittish, scrawny Canadian man who seemed to flinch at the smallest thing but was apparently the worlds leading technical genius that could get information very fast (and very illegally).   
They all were to be train and conditioned before active duty, meaning that the faster the UNCLE agents cleared them, the sooner they were rewarded with a week of relaxation.  
Solo was quick to snatch up Amelié for some one-on-one seduction 'training', and while Illya had every intention of taking the tanned smooth talker with him to teach him how to fight (and maybe how not to flirt with married women), it was Gaby that jumped in to volunteer get-away driving lessons, whisking herself and Carlos away to the empty streets of Norway's countryside, leaving the angry Russian with the terrified John.   
And so here he was, hours later, freezing in a shitty little room, with terrible lighting and even worse heating, teaching the stick of a man to decode secret transmissions.   
  
.  
  
At the sound of the pale genius's fourth sigh that hour, Illya's finger was tapping against his arm and he had to mentally count to ten to keep from throwing the man into the desk he was stationed at.   
" какие" Snapped the large man.  
The smaller body jumped at the bark, looking like a deer about to be shot.   
" I-I am sorry?"  John said, although Illya wasn't sure if he meant he was sorry for sighing, or for not understanding him (the language barrier was a blessing and a curse)   
" What has you sighing so much? It is reaching my nerves"   
The man looked everywhere, before finally making eye contact.   
" I just . . . I don’t get why we have to-"  
" черт побери. Not again. We are not going over this again." interrupted the KGB agent.   
The apparent genius (Illya was beginning to think the title was not earned) was not a fan of old fashion communication and had frequently asked why he had to decipher codes through telegraph when there were such things as phones. When Illya explained that phones could be tapped, and that coded messages, even if they were discovered, took time to figure out, the small man huffed like a child.   
" Listen, tiny man, if I have to - " they were cut off by the sound of the machine tapping, signaling an incoming message, to Illya annoyance.   
Apparently, the other agents were taking turns teaching their assigned newbies, and between Napoleon's ridiculous questions **(Is a grape a berry? How many moons does Saturn have? _Are you cold yet? )_ and Carlos' innue** ndos **(' You know, if you have to huddle for warmth, the Russian should be the big spoon")** , both men were getting exasperated.   
Luckily, they had only an hour left, before they could return to the UNCLE-owned mansion.   
Illya leaned back into his chair, watching the other man scribble notes, furiously decoding the fast-paced message.   
He finally looked down at the one word he had been sent, confused.   
" Um, I don't think I did this one right?" he expelled, fearful of his hot-tempered mentor.   
" Da? What does it say?" he responded, closing his eye and focusing on maintaining his body heat.   
" Valentina?" he questioned. The Russian opened one eye, staring at the man for a long second before closing it again.   
" Message back with " Nyet"   
John, at this point, tired, cold and absolutely terrified of the colossal man sitting in the corner, did as he was told without question.   
It took a minute before the machine responded and John put all his effort into watching for his message.   
" Okay, this one says " Adalfwolf". Is that a city?" the Canadian man offered.   
Illya finally cracked, rubbing his hands over his tired face, before getting up and walking over to the machine.   
" No, it's a curse to whoever owns that name" he replied, before taping out another message quickly, one that suspiciously looked like " ** _Are you drunk or just crazy?"_ **  
 They waited for a beat, before the reply of

_**{Fine. Agna if it is a girl and you are sleeping on the couch** }_

" Should I leave the room?" John questioned, finally catching on to what was happening.   
It was not secret that another reason for the new agents was that they soon would be an agent down for the next few months.  
 The fierce German agent was six months pregnant and a forced to be reckoned with. And ever since the discovery, an on-going battle between the spouses had erupted for names.   
The newbies had witnessed the arguments countless times, fluctuating between girl and boy names, Russian or German, even the weight of the baby was up for debate. (John couldn't look the small woman in the eyes weeks after she had declared, quite publicly, that she was not pushing a 9-pound baby from her vagina, upon discovering her husband's birth weight.)   
Now, it seemed like the burly Russian's fiery wife had taken control of the coding sessions and was irritating her husband from long-distance.   
" Nyet. Stay. We will be leaving soon, so you will sit down and decode until then,” the blond titan ordered, returning to his seat after sending a quick message back to his wife.   
Of course it wasn't long before her reply.   
_**{Oh, are you cold? Me too. And so lonely. Too bad you aren't here}**_  
The North American agent blushed from head to toe upon decoding that one, replying back with " Mrs. Kuryakin, please don't forget I am supposed to be intercepting these messages, not your husband. "   
_**{What is he wearing?}**_  
This was not happening. He was not about to be a go between so they could send dirty messages to each other.   
" Agent Kuryakin? Your wife, uh, wants to talk to you" he choked out in his embarrassment.   
The man did not move, only asked what ridiculous name she had chosen now.   
John didn't want to answer. He really didn't. But it would be rude for him not to.   
" She wants to know what you are wearing"   
Illya's spine strained out as his eyes shot open.   
Before he could reply, another message was sent.   
_**{I bet it is something ridiculous, like a black turtleneck and dress pants. You should tell him to take them off for me.}**_  
Jesus, the woman was insane. He had heard that pregnant women had crazy cravings (for both food and flesh) but this was nonsense.   
" Please, sir, take over. I just . . . I can't." the man said, finally standing up and walking away from the desk, hands up in surrender.   
Illya sighed, standing and taking the man's place, looking at the notes he had scribbled and understand why the man had walked away.   
He wife, on a normal day, was quite risky and flirty. But with all the extra hormones, she was insatiable and unrestricted. After this one was born, he was not sure he would survive having any more children with her.

.

  
Tapping out a message, scolding her for being inappropriate, he began to pack up, telling John to start the car and wait for him outside.   
One last message came through before he walked out the door. Illya decoded it, then shut and locked the door, a smug smile on his face.  
  
 _ **{If you think it is inappropriate, you should come back and bend me over your knee.}**_

**Author's Note:**

> какие : What?  
> черт побери : Dammit.


End file.
